


The Grandest Lady in the Easter Parade

by vixleonard



Series: Holidays with Margaery [4]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Easter, F/F, Face-Sitting, Lesbian Sex, Oral Sex, Recreational Drug Use, Series
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-11
Updated: 2017-04-11
Packaged: 2018-10-17 20:32:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,288
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10601694
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vixleonard/pseuds/vixleonard
Summary: Sansa should've known when Margaery invited her to spend Easter with her family that it wouldn't be just dinner and an egg hunt.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Title comes from the song "Easter Parade"

There are so many Tyrells and Hightowers at the Tyrell family mansion for Easter Sunday, Sansa cannot keep them all straight. She knows Margaery's parents and brothers, of course, and her grandmother, who sits at the head of the table like a queen holding court. She knows Renly too, though neither Margaery's parents or her grandmother seem very fond of Loras's boyfriend. There are aunts and uncles and endless cousins, and Sansa smiles politely at all of them and tries not to offend anyone.

"Relax," Margaery breathes against her ear, making goosebumps break out on Sansa's arms. "You're not trying to earn their votes for Homecoming Queen."

"I _was_ Homecoming Queen."

Margaery smirks and whispers, "And someday you're going to wear just that tiara for me."

"Shhh!" Sansa hisses, her face flushing bright red. One of Margaery's cousins - Elinor? Megga? - looks at them from across the table, her brow furrowing in confusion, and Sansa tries to school her face into a more placid expression. "Someone could hear you."

Margaery rolls her eyes and picks up her glass of wine. "They don't care."

She's been in a foul mood all day, and Sansa doesn't know why. They've only seen each other twice since Valentine's Day, settling for texts, phone calls, and Skype, but things had been going well. At least Sansa thought so when Margaery invited her to Easter dinner. They both had to go back to school the next day, and Easter break had been too short to really get together. The only reason Sansa had even been able to steal away from her own family to join Margaery was because they'd already had Easter dinner the night before, Robb and Jeyne needing to leave early and Catelyn Stark refusing to skip a holiday with the entire family. Sansa thought Margaery would be happy she could come, but since arriving an hour earlier, Margaery was downright surly.

Pushing at her yams with her fork, Sansa murmurs, "Did I do something wrong?"

She regrets asking it the second she says it. It's the kind of needy girlfriend question Sansa's always prided herself on never asking, and even though she doesn't know if she's ready to declare herself Margaery's girlfriend, she also doesn't want Margaery to think she's some whiny mess. If Margaery thinks they're fun and casual, then Sansa is going to act fun and casual. Where Margaery leads, Sansa has followed, and she's been good with that dynamic.

 _Maybe that's the problem_ , she thinks even as Margaery blinks in surprise and says, "No, no, you didn't do anything, San. I'm just in a mood." She drains her wine glass and gestures vaguely with her hand. "It's a lot sometimes."

Sansa understands. She loves her family more than anything, but even though they're far less intense and nowhere near as competitive as the Tyrells, she gets overwhelmed by them. There have been times Sansa's felt smothered by their love, claustrophobic at the fact everyone she met in their small town knew her as "Ned Stark's girl," and here is Margaery, daughter of a man running for state senate, granddaughter of a woman who issues decrees and has them followed. If anyone is entitled to a bad mood once in awhile, it's her.

And then Sansa is struck with what she can only call wild stupidity, the sort of impulsivity Margaery is known for and Sansa's never possessed until now.

"I'm going to go use the bathroom in your room," Sansa says, neatly folding the napkin on her lap. "You should come check on me in a few minutes."

Margaery's green eyes light up with surprise as Sansa excuses herself, her words lost in the din of Tyrell conversation, and she walks as normally as possible towards the foyer where the guest bathroom is. Once out of sight she hurries up the thickly carpeted staircase, turning right at the top towards Margaery's bedroom. Margaery's bedroom is connected to Loras's through the shared bathroom, the only rooms on that side of the house, and Margaery's told Sansa hilarious stories about catching Loras and Renly in their shower or having to hide Renly beneath Margaery's bed when Mace came busting into Loras's room in the middle of the night to catch him sneaking his boyfriend into the house. Sansa can't help but be a little jealous of Margaery's closeness with her big brother; she and Arya can hardly have a conversation without fighting.

Margaery's room is neat, though Sansa knows it is because of the maid and not Margaery's own fastidiousness. Sansa closes the door, taking a seat on the edge of the white ruffled bedspread. She stands, sits again, suddenly nervous. She is not the one to make the first move in any situation, let alone with Margaery. She hasn't even initiated a _kiss_ , and now she's initiating a clandestine hook-up when Margaery's entire family is downstairs celebrating the resurrection of Jesus?

"What are you doing?" she asks herself. She catches her reflection in the mirror of Margaery's vanity, sees the flush of her skin and slightly wild look in her eyes, and Sansa almost bolts back down the stairs. And then she remembers Margaery showing up on her doorstep just after St. Patrick's Day when Sansa was stressed about mid-terms and how she quizzed her all night on vocab words even though she had to catch the train in the morning to get back for her own mid-terms. She hadn't even kissed Sansa that night, hadn't even tried. 

Sansa smoothes her hands over her dress, taking a deep breath. Whatever she feels for Margaery, this complicated, tangled mess of want and love and fear she can't quite name, she wants to make her feel better, and what Sansa is proposing will do that.

Margaery opens her bedroom door, smiling when she sees Sansa seated on her bed. "You're full of surprises today." Closing the door behind her, she adds, "Not that that's a bad thing."

"What did you tell your parents?"

Margaery shrugs. "They're arguing politics. They barely even noticed when Loras, Renly, and Garlan slipped out to smoke some of Willas's medical marijuana. We've got a little time. Why, did you have something in mind?" she teases, leaning forward to skim her hands up Sansa's legs.

"I think - I mean - " Sansa clears her throat, gathering all the courage she can. "You should sit on my face."

Margaery's look of utter shock is almost enough to make Sansa laugh. "Really?"

Sansa nods, feeling flush. Margaery talked about doing that to her one night on one of their calls, a Facetime session so filthy that it provided weeks of material for Sansa's solo sessions. If just the _idea_ of it was enough to make Sansa feel that way, she can't imagine how Margaery feels now that she's offering to do it.

Margaery moves forward, kissing her long and hard. "Sometimes I don't know if you're an adorable prude or a wonderful pervert."

This time Sansa _does_ laugh, resting her hands on Margaery's waist. "I think you're turning me from a prude into a pervert."

Reaching under her sundress to slip off her lacy pink thong, Margaery swears, "I'm doing it for the good of all woman kind. It's not selfish at all, you understand."

"Of course not." Sansa leans up, kisses Margaery's neck just under her ear the way she likes. She cups her breast over her dress, feeling the hard point of her nipple against her palm. "You're a giver."

Margaery makes a noise halfway between a laugh and a moan, giving Sansa a gentle push with her fingertips. "I thought you were going to be the giver in this."

Sansa nods, settling on her back atop the mound of throw pillows, her heart beating so fast, she thinks it _must_ be skipping beats. The excited and ravenous look on Margaery's face is enough to allay any doubts she has about this, especially when Margaery straddles her, balancing on her knees.

"I hope you realize I'm going to fuck the shit out of you after this," Margaery declares matter-of-factly as she walks herself up Sansa's body, grabbing the headboard for balance.

Sansa doesn't respond as the sight of Margaery's cunt, already slick with want and bare to her gaze, comes into view. She's still surprised by how much she likes this, how much she enjoys performing this act in a way she never did for her boyfriends. As she hooks her hands around Margaery's thighs pulling her closer, Sansa moans against her flesh, and she feels Margaery tremble.

She drags her tongue slow along the length of Margaery's cunt, reveling in the taste of her. At the top, she points her tongue, teasing her clit for a moment before backing off, licking again. She repeats this a half-dozen times, each time spending a bit longer at her clit before retreating, and Margaery's body begins to move in a sinuous motion, half-wave and half-grind, her moans muffled as she bites her lip. For awhile Sansa is tented by Margaery's dress, the fabric falling over her head, engulfing her in a world where only Margaery and her wet, pink cunt existed, the salt of her pleasure the only taste in the world. And then there is sunlight, bright and sudden enough to make Sansa close her eyes as Margaery gathers her skirt in one hand, the other still tightly grasping the headboard.

"Look at me," Margaery begs, moving faster against Sansa's tongue, doing half the work herself now. "San, San, look at me."

Sansa opens her eyes, and Margaery moans loud and free this time, her head dropping back as her hips speed up. It's almost rough, and Sansa can't believe how much she likes that, the idea that Margaery is so lost in her own pleasure that she doesn't care. Sansa's soaked between her legs, her own desire ratcheting up with each twitch of Margaery's hips, the sticky wetness of her pleasure spreading across Sansa's face. She tries to imagine what she looks like, what Margaery saw when she looked down and saw Sansa staring up at her, and Sansa suddenly wants to see Margaery's face as she comes. Grasping her thighs tighter, Sansa jerks her body down, licking hard into her body, and Margaery arches forward, her skirt still clutched in her fist, almost doubled over with pleasure as Sansa starts to suck at her.

"Oh fuck, oh fuck, oh fuck," Margaery chants, the hand on the headboard dropping to grab a handful of Sansa's hair. She pulls it, trying to get Sansa even closer, and Sansa moans at the slight bite of pain, at the way her lower body clenches from the feel of it. "Yeah, right there, just like that."

Sansa sucks harder, her tongue dancing over top Margaery's clit, and she manages to slip one hand beneath Margaery's skirt, sliding two fingers inside of her. It's enough to tip Margaery over the edge, her body working hard against Sansa's mouth as she moans and cries out without any shyness. Even as she's coming down, Sansa doesn't stop, crooking her fingers forward and flicking her tongue as fast as she can, and Margaery manages a semi-pained, "Oh fuck!" before shaking through another orgasm, her voice cracking.

Her tongue is starting to ache but Sansa tries to keep going. Margaery slides off of her, a boneless mass atop the pillow mound, her legs splayed open as if even closing her legs would be too much stimulation for her. Sansa wipes at her face with the corner of the bedspread, out of breath and painfully turned on, and she wonders if it's bad manners to get herself off while Margaery recovers. Then she laughs at the idea that there is some book on lesbian sex propriety. 

"Something funny?" Margaery pants, rolling her face towards Sansa.

She shakes her head. "Just...everything, I guess." Pushing a loose lock of hair from her eyes, she asks, "Do you think we should go back downstairs?"

Margaery snorts. "After that? Even if I _could_ walk, that'd be a hard pass."

"We can't stay up here forever."

"Probably not." With a sigh, Margaery shoves at her dress, pushing it down over her hips. "I'd rather fuck you than suffer through Leonette's pineapple upside down cake."

"If we stay up here much longer, everyone will know what we're doing."

"We already know what you're doing!" Renly's voice came from the closed bathroom door, making Sansa jump. "You're loud as fuck!"

"Oh my god," Sansa moans, burying her face in one of the pillows.

"Don't worry," Margaery says, heaving herself to her feet and walking over to her dresser, picking a clean pair of underwear from the drawer and shimmying them up her body. "We could've fucked on the dinner table and Gram would still hate Renly more than you."

"I heard that!" Renly calls.

"Wasn't trying to whisper!" Margaery whips the bathroom door open, Renly and Loras crammed into the small space with Loras's bong, Garlan in the distance on Loras's bed. "What are you doing up here? I thought you smoked in the shed."

"Dad put a padlock on it." Loras leans around the door frame, giving a jaunty wave in a mortified Sansa's direction. "Hey, Sansa. Want a hit?"

It's on the tip of her tongue to say no but the idea of returning to the Tyrell dining room with anyone knowing what they were just doing is enough for Sansa to say, "Yeah, sure, why not?"

In for a penny, in for a pound. Her mother always said the Tyrells were trouble.

As Loras shows her how to take a hit from the bong, Sansa wonders if trouble has always been this _fun_.


End file.
